


The Wedding Night

by papergardener



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Awkward First Times, Consensual Sex, F/M, Fluff, Héctor is an adoring husband, Imector, Little bit kinky, Non-Graphic Smut, OTP Feels, Wedding Night, bible sex ed sucks, communication is important, like 90 percent, mostly foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13570242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papergardener/pseuds/papergardener
Summary: Imelda is nervous about her wedding night with Hector (and he’s not much better). Luckily they have each other to help figure it out.(aka: they’re so much in love and don’t know what to do, help)





	The Wedding Night

**Author's Note:**

> TW: the beginning of this story might be triggering to victims of sexual assault (note: it is very brief and it's all uphill from there)  
> Also, please be aware that these characters are teenagers (Héctor being one year younger than her, 17 and 18 respectively).
> 
> Cultural note: Mexican weddings traditionally have an after party (tornaboda) lasting until early morning, so no one was really getting it on during the actual wedding night. Hence why this is actually the night after.  
> Also, I did do some research into gender and sexual norms for this time period in Mexico, so it's fairly accurate.  
> Thank you to @tradesnark and Lori for their help beta'ing this (and being super sweet about the whole thing, you guys are awesome!)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Their wedding night.

From their bedroom window, Imelda watched the bright crescent moon rise against the velvet sky, and tried to convince herself that she should be happy.  
  
She wasn’t a fan of marriage in general, hating the idea of being ruled by a man, of losing what little freedom she had. Depending on her husband, she may not even be allowed to leave the house without his permission. Those thoughts made her both miserable and furious.  
  
Yet, at least she had married a man she loved, someone who made her laugh, made her heart ache in a way she had never known before. A man who was kind and gentle and funny… but a man nonetheless.  
  
And it was well known that all men had desires, and it was the duty of women and wives to fulfill them. Héctor, her sweet, loving husband… he would have those same desires. And she would do her duty as his wife.  
  
She tapped her fingers against the windowsill as she sat and waited for him to return from a quick errand after dinner. It had been a welcome relief, perhaps even planned on his part so she could have time to prepare: tying her hair up, washing her face, changing into a long, thin nightdress. Prepared, but that didn’t mean she was ready.  
  
“Imelda?”  
  
She jumped, turning to see Héctor standing in the doorway and grinning.  
  
“That surprised to see me?” he said, setting down a small box from under his arm. “I thought you might already be asleep. I didn’t realize I’d be out so late.”  
  
“It’s fine. I’m guessing everyone wanted to talk?”  
  
He laughed. “Ay, they were! Everyone was saying how great yesterday was. A wedding to remember!”  
  
The previous night had been their actual wedding, a joyous celebration with all of their friends and family (or Imelda’s family in any case, Héctor having none). There was feasting, music, and dancing lasting long into night and going straight to the traditional after party, the _tornaboda_ , that went until the early morning hours.  
  
And while it was true they hadn’t had their true ‘wedding night,’ it could be said they had already shared a bed. That morning, they had both been stumbling with exhaustion when they arrived at their home, just after sunrise. Minutes after stepping through the door they had immediately collapsed into bed and slept all through the day. That was all they had done: slept. And it had been nice. Once, she had woken to see him fast asleep beside her, and she had been reminded how young he was, only seventeen to her eighteen years, and still had so much boyishness about him. But recently it seemed that had been changing.  
  
She thought back to their wedding reception when she had heard a loud, almost vulgar chorus of laughter from across the courtyard. When she had looked over, it was to see Héctor standing amidst a group of his amigos with Ernesto’s arm flung around his shoulder.  
  
She could guess well enough what they were talking about… a group of men after a wedding with too many drinks, and too many bawdy songs and lewd jokes in their heads? Especially a man like Ernesto, the embodiment of machismo: tough, manly, strong, dominant. She knew how many women swooned over him and his ilk, but she had never been fond of that kind of man. As she had watched her new husband amidst his friends, she worried what fool things they were putting into his head.  
  
Had Héctor also been given _friendly_ advice?  
  
She had already received her share of it and wished she hadn’t.  
  
Her amigas had laughed and teased her about the trials of marriage: chasing after children and always being asked to put food on the table or risk being struck. They talked about being beaten by their husbands as a normal affair, griping to each other enough, but in the end what could they do? They would joke about how men would invariably become dominant in bed: possessive, passionate, and insatiable. It was best to lay still and wait for them to be finished. Then they had laughed and agreed that as cute as Héctor was, he’d be the same, no doubt; sure, it was always the quiet ones that were the most surprising. Maybe he’d be a _diablo_ in bed.  
  
She shivered. Maybe they were right.  
  
“Imelda?” he asked, touching her shoulder and startling her. “Is everything all right? You’re very quiet.”  
  
“Fine. Just a long day, that’s all. I didn’t sleep very well.”  
  
“Ah, I know that feeling!” he said with a breathy laugh. “It’s hard to sleep well in the middle of the day, I should know. Still, we’re married!”  
  
He beamed at her, and normally she would have been happy for it, but her nerves were too frayed from worrying about what was yet to come.  
  
“Yes, we’re married,” she repeated numbly. He frowned at her tone and stepped back before going to the other side of the room. She watched him in the thin candlelight when his back was turned, looking very tall and broad-shouldered, somehow different from the gawky, flirty músico who had captured her heart.  
  
Unbidden, she recalled the priest’s sermon at the wedding…  
  
_Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord._  
  
She would have to submit to him. Being married meant he owned her. It made her feel weak, powerless. But no amount of thinking was going to change that. Nor would it change what was about to happen, and she was tired of waiting. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and rose to her feet.  
  
“Shall we, then?”  
  
His shoulders leapt up to his ears as he turned to face her. “Uh, to bed, you mean? A-ay… un momento,” he said, voice trembling. Was it from nerves? Excitement?  
  
She sat on the edge of the bed and glanced over her shoulder as he fumbled with the buttons of his jacket. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but she thought his hands were shaking. She faced forward again, staring at the wall in the flickering light and wondered if she should blow out the candles. Would it be easier in the dark? Possibly. The thought passed through her mind as she listened to the sound of clothing being removed: the thud of a tossed jacket, shoes, and then the click of suspenders. The next moment there came footsteps on the wooden floorboards, and he stood before her.  
  
She took a deep breath and looked up, feeling quite small as he stood over her. There was a strange, hard look to his face, his lips a tight line. He squared his shoulders back, and even in his loose-fitting undershirt and pants she could see how tense he stood. Their eyes met and he gave a tiny, stiff nod, very different from the man she was used to. It was like a stranger, and the thought terrified her more then she wanted to admit.  
  
_… So also wives should submit to their husbands in everything._  
  
A cold shiver swept through her body as she crawled backward onto the bed and lay on her back, ignoring the nausea curdling in her gut. He hesitated, and she wondered if he knew what he was doing, or if he already had experience with others. She hated that thought and pushed it aside.  
  
“I-Imelda… are you, uh…”  
  
She breathed hard through her nose, kept her gaze to the ceiling, and nodded.  
  
There was a faint creak of bedsprings as he positioned himself over her legs, straddling her hips. A pause before his hands fumbled with the edge of her pale blue shift, pulling it up and uncovering her legs to the cool night air, making her skin prickle with gooseflesh. The thin material tickled over her knees, then fluttered up her thigh and then higher until it was bunched at her hips, leaving her exposed. Imelda grit her teeth, feeling shame burn her cheeks at the thought of Héctor seeing her like that. His hands fell onto her bare waist and she flinched, but in a second he moved them, and she felt them settle on the crumpled fabric of her shift, as if the touch of her skin might burn him.  
  
There was a pause… a long lingering pause as she kept her gaze fixed overhead, wanting him to just start, to just get it over with.  
  
One of his hands left her waist and she heard a dull, rhythmic sound. She glanced down and saw his hand at the laces of his breeches, and then she quickly looked away again. He was getting ready… she took deep breaths. She would bear it, just a little pain…  
  
The bed dipped as he pressed closer to her, so close she could feel his heat on her skin. Then it was there, something hot and firm and foreign between her legs, pressing against her and she struggled to not fight, to not make a noise.  
  
“Hey, hey… Imelda? You all right?”   
  
“Yes,” she hissed through her teeth, grimacing at the sudden sharp pain, the feeling of him pushing into her, and it _hurt!_ But she didn’t cry, she would take it without complaint. She could do this…  
  
Instead he pulled away, the hard thing between her legs disappearing and she let out a ragged breath. Her legs shook and she worried he would push it in again, but he didn’t.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, shifting back and taking his hands off her. “Sorry, sorry, did I hurt you?”  
  
She bit back a sharp retort, not feeling like comforting him. “I’m fine! I just want it over with.” Again she waited for him to start, her lower body twinging in anticipation of the pain to come. Yet still he didn’t move.  
  
“I, uh… don’t know… how to, uh, do it without hurting you,” he said, and she could almost hear his embarrassment. Normally it’d be endearing, but she was as tense as a guitar string and not in the mood to have to explain it.  
  
“It’s supposed to hurt. I can handle it,” she snapped, torn between not wanting him to touch her again, and wanting him to finish so she could cry without him watching.  
  
She waited for him to start again, but instead he backed away to the side of the bed.  
  
“You’re… not enjoying any of this, are you?”  
  
“Of course not!” She sat up and glared at him. Automatically she pulled down the edge of the dress and then covered her chest, hating how vulnerable she felt. She also hated that she had to explain something so damn basic to this man. But her heart softened at the hurt look that flashed across his face.  
  
“I… I’m sorry,” he said, his shoulders hunching forward and making him once again look the nervous teenager that he was. “I wanted to… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
She let out a low breath, rubbing her forehead as her anger evaporated. In its place was relief that in the end, Héctor was still the same man she had fallen in love with. He stayed curled over on the edge of the bed, looking small and young.  
  
“I don’t need to enjoy it,” she said in a kinder voice. “This is just the way things go. I’m your wife now, I know I’m supposed to submit to you... and I will.” Even if the words tasted so vile on her tongue.  
  
He didn’t seem to care much for the words either, burying his head in his hand and sounding pained. “I don’t want you to… that’s not...”  
  
“I’m your wife,” she said softly, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “And I’m happy to be your wife.”  
  
He startled at the touch, turning his head to look at it before she pulled her hand back, feeling self-conscious. When she glanced back at him, she found him looking from his shoulder to her hands.  
  
“That’s a good point, you know, ” he muttered, furrowing his brows. “You are my wife.”  
  
“Yes…” She wasn’t thrilled about wherever that train of thought was headed.  
  
“And that means… I’m your husband.” He looked at her expectantly, a smile spreading across his face.  
  
She stared at him. “Yes, obviously. We were married yesterday. What are you getting at?”  
  
“I’ve got an idea,” he said, and there was mischief in his voice. “Imelda, querida, move over, will you?”  
  
“What...” Before she knew what was happening, he was nudging her over until she was on the edge of the mattress, her feet dangling off. Mystified, she could only watch as Héctor sprawled out in the middle of the bed, looking particularly gangly against the rumpled sheets.  
  
She gave him a sideways look. “What… are you doing?”  
  
“New plan- you’re in charge!” he said with a beaming grin. “Think about it. Sure, we’re married now, which means you’re my wife… but that also means I’m your husband! Which means all of _this_ ,” he said, gesturing to himself with a sultry look, “is now yours. So, then… oh! Wait, wait, wait…”  
  
He held up his hands, thinking fast, and then pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside so he lay there half-naked on the bed. It was a lot of skin, and, with a growing heat in her cheeks, she realized she had never seen this much of him in her entire life.  
  
“Eh, eh? Not too bad, am I right?” he said with outstretched hands and waggling eyebrows, which somewhat ruined the image he was going for. “So I’m yours, mi amor! Do as you like.”  
  
She laughed at how ridiculous it was and then looked to see Héctor still lying there, propped up on his elbows and waiting.  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
“Yes! Absolutely! Whatever you want, no questions asked.”  
  
She bit her lip but otherwise didn’t move. Her eyes lingered over his body: his knobby shoulders, bare chest, and further down… down. She was suddenly overcome with nerves and another feeling she didn’t want to think about. She could only bring her hands to her chest, clasping them tightly together, not sure what she was supposed to do. Besides, she didn’t want to seem too afraid. Or perhaps worse… too eager.  
  
She considered him, and got an idea.  
  
“Does this also mean you’ll do whatever I say?”  
  
“Ahh… yes?”  
  
“Good.” It was her turn to sound mischievous. “Close your eyes and lay back.”  
  
Confusion flickered across his face, but only for a moment. With a shrug he shut his eyes and let his head fall back onto the pillow, lying there with his hands at his side, his body open and bare before her.  
  
For a long moment, she just watched him in the pale candlelight, mesmerized by the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, his bones taut against his beautiful skin. She stretched a hand over his chest, and then quickly brought it back as if he might jump the second she touched him.  
  
She bit her lip. “And… you won’t move until I tell you otherwise.”  
  
He grinned, eyes still shut tight. “No moving, got it!”  
  
Glancing away from his face, she let her eyes drift down him: the small dip between his collarbones, the small rise of each rib, the hollow of his stomach, his narrow hips jutting up beneath half-laced britches.  
  
Her husband…  
  
With a shaking hand she once again reached out, hovering over his chest and then lightly touched the faint hollow between his ribs. His breath hitched, just a little, and it sent a shiver through her. She hesitated before she stroked up, feeling his chest rise and fall, and laid her hand over his heart. Her palm lay flat against his skin, and she could feel his heartbeat fluttering like a tiny bird. Even when he lay motionless, he was still brimming with life. He was so warm…  
  
In the quiet she could hear his every breath: a beautiful, intoxicating sound, and it was strange to feel it so intimately beneath her fingertips. Her hands trembled as she traced feather-light along his ribs, wandering over each little ridge. All of him was so exposed, it was so strange, so… vulnerable. She trailed down his stomach and found the bony knobs of his hips. He tensed, and she paused.  
  
“Is this all right?”  
  
“Sí … sí, mi amor... you’re fine.”  
  
But after a quick glance between his legs she changed her mind, not ready to face that yet. Moving back up, she found herself growing more comfortable bit by bit, her touch growing bolder. One hand ran along the dip between his ribs and drew soft circles on his chest. Tentatively, she ran a finger over his small dark nipple, and he jerked against her, his body writhing. She quickly looked up, wondering if she had hurt him, and was surprised to see him biting his lip, holding back laughter.  
  
“I-I’m ticklish there,” he said breathlessly.  
  
Oh? That was interesting.  
  
Still watching his face, she brushed over the little nub again and felt him twist against the sheets as he held back a groan, and decided she very much liked it. He chewed his lip and she found herself mirroring him. She wouldn’t tease him too much at that moment, but it was something to keep in mind for the future.  
  
However, it did give her an idea. Watching him carefully, she lifted both hands off him, waited a moment until confusion flickered over his face as he wondered where she would touch him next, then stroked a light hand across his stomach, making him jerk in surprise. She let her hand linger there, and then noticed something new.  
  
“You’re trembling,” she muttered, curious at the realization.  
  
“Ah… yeah, I might be? It is a bit cold.”  
  
That was fair; it was a cool night and he was wearing very little at the moment. She shifted closer on the bed and pressed her legs tighter together, keenly aware of the growing heat below her belly.  
  
Her attention went lower again, back to his flat stomach, and then her eyes strayed to his bony hips and then at the soft bulge beneath his hastily pulled up britches. She had been somewhat afraid before, at the very least disgusted by it, but suddenly she found herself intrigued. Her fingers found the laces of his pants and loosened them, pausing when his body lurched up, tensing beneath her with a sharp gasp.  
  
“All right?” she asked.  
  
He let out a deep breath, then nodded, his eyelashes fluttering for a moment before closing again.  
  
She waited for his body to relax before she looked again to the thin strings of his breeches and found it hard with her shaking hands. Then she lowered it revealing dark curling hair and…  
  
Flustered, she hurriedly leaned away and looked at the wall as her face burned. She took a few calming breaths and then looked at it again. It was weird, but it didn’t look so scary, mostly just fleshy and strange.  
  
Deep breaths… he was her husband. It would be fine. Deep breath...  
   
Carefully, with the lightness of a breeze, she touched the pink and dimpled tip, and Héctor let out a breathy groan, his long legs shifting and tensing against the sheets.  
  
It was a beautiful sound, and she wished he would make more of it… except for how uncomfortable it was making her. She pushed her legs against each other, could feel herself growing hot in response to his noises, the way his lithe body twisted at her touch. Taking a steadying breath, she double-checked that his eyes were closed and she pushed a hand between her legs that somewhat eased the throbbing tension, but also left her aching for more.  
  
Leaning closer, she touched the tip again, firmer this time. Her fingers caressed the smooth sides and she noticed the heat of it, how peculiar it felt. He made another little noise and she noticed his hands grasping and twisting the sheets at his side.  
  
“E-easy,” he murmured. “Er, I mean just…. careful, yeah? It’s mmm… sensitive.”  
  
She started at the tone of his voice. Looking up, she saw that his eyes were open, his gaze upwards. He didn’t notice her watching, but seemed focused on taking deep controlled breaths, and she tried to place his expression. Then it hit her: he was nervous. Maybe even scared, just as she had been. Perhaps that was why he was trembling. He had put himself in her place and was trusting her. He was trusting her entirely.  
  
She pulled back and found her heart confused, breaking over the thought of worrying him, but also aching with love. He must have felt her shift closer because he glanced down before shutting his eyes again with an apologetic grin.  
  
“I know, I know… eyes closed.”  
  
She leaned over him and noticed how he tensed, the way he held his breath. Then she kissed his cheek, tasted the salt of his sweat. He jerked a little at the unexpected touch and then smiled.  
  
“That’s a shame,” she said, letting her hand linger against his collarbone. “I quite like your eyes… Open them, por favor.”  
  
He did and instantly met her gaze, and she knew she wasn’t giving him enough credit, because, in truth, she loved his eyes.  
  
Still feeling unusually bold, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his, and he lurched up a little, his body straining beneath her, then he seemed to pull himself back down. She frowned at the strange response, and then realized the obvious.  
  
“And you can move again.”  
  
“Ah... gracias a Dios!” He let his head fall back with a loud sigh, his whole body sinking into the bed.  
  
“That bad?”  
  
“No, no! It was fine.” He slowly raised himself up on his arms, gasping as if he’d just run a long way. “It was… actually not too bad. Just… whew!”  
  
She helped ease him up to a sitting position but soon discovered a new dilemma. As he sat up, she found it suddenly much harder to look at him. Neither moved as they both turned pink in the face, with him sitting there exposed and half-naked, and her in only a slip. She could barely bring herself to even look at him, and the very thought that she had been touching him _there_ made her face glow with embarrassment. Maybe she should have kept his eyes closed, after all.  
  
Héctor shifted, pulling his legs up before looking at her. “Would you, uh… would you like me to return the favor? With my… hand, maybe?”  
  
She was fairly sure she knew what he was referring to, and felt her face warm, embarrassed at the very thought of him touching her down there.  
  
“Your… hand?” she repeated, pressing her legs tighter together.  
  
“I could at least give it a try. And I am quite good with my fingers, you know. I’ve had quite a lot of practice.”  
  
There was a pause, and then Imelda broke out into laughter, turning away at his shocked face. A moment later he realized what he had said.  
  
“With my guitar, I mean!” he said quickly, throwing up his hands. “There’s a lot of hand stuff with guitars, that’s all.”  
  
She kept laughing, and then he was chuckling too. “Ay, ay… very funny.”  
   
As she settled down, she found her fear had quite gone, as if chased away by laughter. Looking at him, she decided she could trust him.  
  
“All right, músico,” she said, rising up on her knees and pulling her shift out from under her legs. “Let’s see what you can do.”  
  
His eyes lifted and he sat straighter, his right hand moving underneath the fabric and trailing up her thighs before she pushed her legs closer in a sudden burst of panic. He hesitated, his hand stilling on her hot skin.  
  
“All right?” he murmured.  
  
“Can you… not go too deep? And go slow?”  
  
“Sí, of course. If it hurts, or if it’s no good, just tell me.”  
  
Nodding, she opened herself up, spreading her legs and granting him access. A worry crossed her mind: would it hurt? But he didn’t immediately move up, but let his hand linger and stroke along her inner thigh, before slowly moving closer to the crook between her legs.  
  
He shifted his own body closer, and then lifted his hand to her hidden mound and she took a sharp breath. For moments he merely held her there, his fingers buried in the curly hair. She closed her eyes, focusing on the broad hand pressed against her in so intimate a place. Then his fingers stroked against her and she shuddered.  
  
Slowly, almost teasing, his hands and fingers moved lightly against her, only occasionally brushing between her folds, but each time she had to bite her lip or risk making a noise. Soon his fingers were slick, gliding over her inner flesh and then tracing the outer edges, exploring the little valleys and nooks that she didn’t even know herself.  
  
“Is this good?”  
  
“Y-yes. Fine.” She gulped, gathered up her courage, and said, “You can… you can go a bit harder.”  
  
“Like this?”  
  
His feather-light touches changed, his hand pushing firm against her and stoking the growing heat. He teased between her folds, flexing his fingers just barely within her, making her shiver.  
  
She bit her lip. “Yes, that’s… that’s good.”

As his fingers circled and stroked her sensitive place, she found his touch kindling a fire in her belly that she’d never felt before. Her arms fidgeted at her side, not knowing what to do with them, and then rested one on his shoulder. It helped, being able to brace against him as she grew dizzy.  
  
A groan escaped her lips before she clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. Had he heard it? Through the hazy cloud of desire, she recalled what she had been taught as a proper woman. What was she doing? She wasn’t supposed to be _enjoying_ it! She wasn’t some lowly whore.  
  
But he had heard it, clearly, because he stopped, his fingers stilling inside her.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she muttered with a wince. She kept her eyes shut, wondering if he would say something, or do something…  
  
“It’s all right. I like it.” His voice was a low murmur as she heard him rise to his knees beside her.  
  
She shook her head, eyes still shut tight. “N-no. It’s not…” she said, holding her breath as she forced her body to relax, to stay in control. “I shouldn’t—“  
  
“It’s all right,” he whispered again. His fingers moved between her legs again and her body automatically rocked against it. She bit her lip, holding back the cry traveling up her throat.  
  
“Ah, mi amor… I like it when you sing,” he said, his breath tickling her ear, and she could almost hear his grin.  
  
A laugh bubbled out of her, and her eyes fluttered open again. His hand rolled against her and he _pushed_ , bringing out a moan that she didn’t hold back.  
  
She was rewarded with a kiss on her neck, and she pulled her head back, giving him more room which he took advantage of, kissing up her throat and down to her collarbone. It was overwhelming, the tender kisses and the devilish hand. His free hand moved to her waist, bunching at the fabric there. That reminded her that she was still dressed, and she was suddenly keen on the idea of feeling his hand against her skin.  
  
“Wait,” she murmured. “Hold on for a moment.” He paused with his lips against her throat then leaned away, both hands pulling back as he looked at her with concern.  
  
“Sorry, did I…?”  
  
She grinned and took the edges of her nightdress and pulled it over her head, letting it crumble beside them. His eyes went huge, although he didn’t move right away. He looked to her first, and only then did he reach out a hand and lay it along the curve of her hip, gazing at her in amazement. Her own hand twitched towards his, then she stopped, reconsidered, and held them at her side. Instead, she focused on his movements as his hand swept to the small of her back, traveling up her spine bone by bone. She straightened at the touch, and tried to ignore the throbbing ache between her legs. Then his hand moved again and was trailing across her stomach, dipping into her navel and making her laugh as he leaned forward with a cheeky grin.  
  
“You know,” he said against her ear. “You’re welcome to keep touching me, too. Just… thought I should remind you. If you want.”  
  
She rolled her eyes but was grateful for the hint. With more confidence than she would have expected, she lay her hand at his hip and found it hard and sharp, but she paused at the feeling of the rough material of his pants. She pulled back, looking down and frowning at them, having forgotten he was still wearing them.  
  
He was mildly surprised when she leaned away, and then very surprised when she tugged his pants down, making him yelp.

“Whoah!” he said through his laughter. “What are you…?”  
  
“How are you still wearing these?” she said, pretending to sound reproachful, but couldn’t stop her own huff of laughter.  
  
“I don’t know, I just am?” He kept laughing as she lost her grip on them as he tried not to topple over with his pants around his knees. It was strange being so close to him and laughing, and she found her head pressed against his stomach, bizarrely, strangely close to him, before he fell over onto his side.  
  
“Hang on, hang! I got it.”  
  
He kicked his legs up and shimmied his breeches the rest of the way off, so they both were as naked as the day they were born and breathless with laughter. Imelda had to wipe away a tear, her face hurting from how broad she was smiling.  
  
“Better?” he asked with a grin.  
  
“Better.”  
  
She was struck by how beautiful he was: scrawny and long-limbed, and his beautiful eyes, his smile. He was so loving, so sweet and good.  
  
Imelda briefly thought to other men with strong arms and strong jaws, and decided they could all go to hell.  
  
He was looking at her so intently it made her feel almost shy. Then he leaned forward and kissed her, and she nearly melted into him. There was a hand at the back of her head, pulling her closer and she pressed herself against him, skin to skin, and she felt herself grow hotter as he groaned into her mouth.  
   
They broke apart, both gasping.  
  
“Should I keep, uh…” He gave a little wave of his hand, and she grinned.

“Sí, por favor.”  
   
She shifted her knees apart but stayed close to him as his fingers moved between them and back down between her legs. She gasped against his shoulder as he teased her, and he seemed to be a quick learner. There was one spot more sensitive than the rest, and he seemed to have picked up to her reactions to it, because soon his fingers were always straying to it, stroking and circling. Then his questing fingers _pressed_ against something and she lost her breath.  
  
“There. That, do that, right… there…” She bit back a groan and her legs convulsed, threatening to buckle beneath her. Her own hand had slipped down before she realized what she was doing, and for a moment was mortified by herself.  
  
“Yes?” Héctor asked, but she didn’t move, suddenly afraid to touch her own body. Then Héctor’s hand moved out from between her legs and found her own hovering hand. She reflexively jerked it away but he held it, his fingers slick and warm against her own. Gently he pulled her towards her own center.  
  
“Show me,” he said, his fingers interlacing with the back of hers.  
  
She paused before she touched herself in a place that she had never dared to before. Héctor’s fingers followed as she found the spot that had felt like stars bursting.  
  
“There… gently…uuuhh...” She tried not to moan aloud, his fingers replacing hers against the sharp heat, cautious at first, then firm as she pushed him on, her fingertips brushing over his knuckles buried deep within her. She groaned and bent forward, laying her head on his shoulder and curling her fingers through his hair. His body responded at the touch, rocking forward as he let out a shuddery breath along her neck. Her vision went white and she felt a shudder all through her core. It left her gasping and craving something more. Almost too much, but not enough.  
  
He held her as her legs spasmed beneath her, and she almost swore when he rubbed that secret spot again. She pressed her legs tight around his hand, and decided she needed more.  
  
“Héctor,” she breathed, almost overcome with need for him, driven half mad by the throbbing ache within. “I want you. Please…”  
  
The arm around her side pulled her tighter, then there was a laugh as he leaned backward onto the bed, dragging her down with him in a messy tangle of limbs and laughter. Her body was shaking so much it took a few moments to get settled on her back, pulling her knees up as Héctor moved over her. The same thrill of fear twisted in her stomach, but much less than before, her mind too overridden by her intense, aching love for him.  
  
He paused, looking up at her with an unspoken question. She reached for his hand and put it against her hip.  
  
“I’m ready. Just… slow. Go slow.”  
  
“All right,” he said with a nod. “Tell me if it hurts.”  
  
He went slow, and it slid in surprisingly easy at first. Then there was a pressure again, and she winced.  
  
“I-Imelda, I...” She could feel his whole body shuddering as he stilled within her and there was a stab of pain, but not so bad.  
  
“Move,” she whimpered, shifting her hips under him. “Move, please. Move…”  
  
He did so. A little out, then a little further in, a slow steady rhythm in time with his heady breaths. Slowly, steadily, the pain softened and she felt little licks of heat and pleasure as he pushed within her. Soon the pleasure overrode the unfamiliar pain, and her body began rocking in time to him. Then there was one thrust and she gasped.  
  
He paused at that, but she pushed back against him, wanting more of whatever it was. “That… do that…yes, nnnnhh!”  
  
Obediently he thrust into her again and she threw her head back, almost lost in the haze. She gripped his back, burying her hands in his hair, and her nails scraped against his skin, making him jerk and shudder.  
  
“Sorry!” she said, afraid she had hurt him. Yet he didn’t respond, his body trembling and she looked at his face and saw him biting his lip with a strange expression.  
  
“Did I hurt you?”  
  
“N-not exactly…” he muttered, looking embarrassed. “It’s not that. It, uh, felt… good.”  
  
Her eyebrows shot up and he backtracked.  
  
“Never mind!” he said quickly, his eyes darting away. “Ignore me. Ah, anyway… not important,” he muttered.  
  
He finally began to move against her and for a hot bright moment she was overcome by the heat of him, but she kept a clear mind as she watched his face, still flushed and unsure. It was obvious he was hoping to forget that little confession, but she wouldn’t let it go so easily. She pulled his head closer, wrapping her arms around his back, his shoulders blades sharp beneath her hands.  
  
“Now it’s your turn to sing,” she whispered and dragged her nails down his back. He groaned aloud, swearing under his breath and burying his head into the pillow beside her.  
  
Oh, he was going to be the death of her.  
  
After a few shaky breaths he tried to lift himself up again, but she kept her arms around him, not letting go. Quick enough he took the hint and stayed there, his head buried against her shoulder, his hands at her waist as their hips bucked against each other. The solid weight of him pressed on her stomach, her chest, almost pushing her breath away. She loved it, being surrounded by him, the heat of him against her, within her, his body shaking and pulsing deep inside, going faster, harder. She didn’t try and stop the noises escaping her lips as she felt something building, building...  
  
Then he pushed with a groan and her whole body tensed as a sudden great _something_ coursed through her, her back arching up against him, her toes curling until it faded in waves, leaving her breathless and dizzy. As she blinked away the haze she became aware again of him rocking into her, helping her ride down from the heady high.  
  
“Mi amor…” she whispered against his neck, holding him close. She wrapped her arms around his back, running her fingers down and could hear him shudder hot against her ear. He went faster, pumping into her and then he stuttered and stilled, and there was a sudden rush of burning heat deep, deep within her and he gasped, his body still rocking in and out of her slowly, riding out his own wave of pleasure.  
  
Soon they were both shaking and sticky with sweat, gasping against each other. Héctor tried to lift himself off of her, but she kept her arms around him and he took the hint and settled back. He kissed her collarbone, and then kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jawline, and then let his head rest beside hers, still panting.  
  
She lay her cheek against the pillow and looked at him, his eyes closed and a drowsy smile on his face. His hair was a mess, and she realized that had been because of her, and there was a strange glow of pride. Reaching out a trembling hand, she cradled his cheek, his eyelids fluttering open.  
  
“My husband,” she murmured, staring into his beautiful brown eyes. “Te amo.”  
  
He pulled himself closer, kissing her on the lips, and she happily kissed him back.  
  
“Te amo, Imelda,” he whispered, and it sounded like a song, or a prayer.  
  
She lay close as he pulled the sheets over them, and she marveled at how lucky she was, how incredible it was to be alive and there with him.  
  
For a time she basked in a strange glow, her body hot and spent. When she looked over at him, his eyes were closed and his breathing deep and even, having fallen fast asleep. He looked so beautiful, her husband… gently she kissed him on the cheek, feeling so much love she thought her heart might break.

That night, the love of her life lay in her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> These two are going to be the death of me…  
> Well, there it is! My very first smut and wow. No wonder people like writing this, it was way more fun than I thought. (and I did it without saying dick once, go me!)  
> Also, take the sex stuff with the grain of salt- it’s written by an asexual lesbian virgin who is squicked by real sex. You might be asking… why the fuck did I write this? Good question. (no regrets!)
> 
> Some deeper thoughts into this…  
> Historically (and still today in Mexico) there’s very, very little taught to women about sex. It was seen as solely for procreation and little thought was given to the women’s desires (as in, sex was over when the man finished, typically). This is also in a culture dominated by the ideals of 'machismo' (basically Ernesto...), so Imelda's fears are pretty justified.  
> Basically they're both panicking in the beginning. This whole situation is so interesting and lovely because Hector takes what's expected of them and turns it on its head. He is an adoring husband and deserves all the love!
> 
> Bible quotes are from Ephesians 5:22 and 5:24
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, reviews always appreciated :D
> 
>  
> 
> [Now with sequel!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143500)


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